


Merry Christmas Cookie

by ProfessionalMess



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith is grumpy, M/M, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), and can cook, and can't cook, lance is nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalMess/pseuds/ProfessionalMess
Summary: “What are you doing in my apartment?” the man (Lance was 87% sure he was talking to a man) said, his voice just as distrustful as the look he was throwing Lance’s way.“I heard the fire alarm and saw the smoke and you didn’t answer when I knocked, so I thought you might, you know, need some help,” Lance explained with an awkward one-shouldered shrug.“I don’t need help,” he said dismissively, shaking his head as he eyes narrowed further into a look much closer to a defensive glare. Lance knew it was probably supposed to be intimidating, but he thought it really just looked kind of cute.“You’ve set off the fire alarm four times in the past hour,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “Are you sure you don’t need help? What are you even doing?”





	Merry Christmas Cookie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostmaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostmaya/gifts).



> this fic is my gift for the vld secret santa exchange !! it's a little bit longer that i expected but i hope you all enjoy !!

Lance had been living in his apartment for quite a few years now.

 

He liked it there, liked the building and the location and the community he lived in. He knew every single one of his neighbors by name, all except for one. And that particular neighbor Lance had given up on a long time ago, in part because he hadn’t caught sight of them even once the entire time he lived across the hall. No one came in, no one went out, no one made noise, no one moved. Lance wasn’t even positive anyone lived there, despite everyone else’s assurances that someone did in fact live there and that someone was a bit of an asshat.

 

He had almost kind of come to fear whoever lived in that silent apartment, just based on the stories he’d heard. They sounded abrasive and rude and like the kind of person that didn’t care if you fell down the stairs, and Lance almost preferred that they hide away and not show their face.

 

Lance, at this point in his life, was really kind of put off by the idea of meeting this mysterious neighbor. His inner social butterfly had been insistent at first, but after an initial three weeks of persistent knocking and gossip and stories plus additional years of the apartment being as good as empty, Lance had, for lack of a better phrase, lost interest. It wasn’t that he wasn’t _curious._ Lance was kind of dying to know what was on the other side of that door, especially after staring at it so long. But his curiosity wasn’t strong enough to override his sense of survival, so he stopped pursuing—even if he could never quite bribe himself into not caring.

 

And once Lance made up his mind on something, he normally stuck with it. It was often excruciatingly difficult for Lance to reach a decision in the first place, but once he had it, he didn’t bother to change it unless he had good reason. This, of course, sometimes came back to bite him in the ass, but it worked out well enough often enough that it was just what he did.

 

However, despite all that, Lance currently found himself in the entryway of his apartment—hand on the doorknob, biting hard on his lip, his confidence in his “ignore the weird neighbor across the hall” plan wavering for one reason and one reason only. If Lance didn’t have a good reason, he wouldn’t even consider it. But here he was, five seconds away from doing more than just considering, almost sort of desperately searching his mind for a good enough reason not to.

 

If there was one thing Lance was absolutely sure of, it was that he wasn’t a mean guy. He was helpful and friendly and liked to do whatever he could to make other people’s lives better, and, for the love of god, whoever lived across the hall had set off the fire alarm in their apartment like _four times_ in the span of the last hour. It was the most noise he’d heard from the apartment the entire time he’d lived across from it, and it was obvious that there was some sort of struggle happening over there, whether it be an actual fire or a faulty alarm or horrifically bad cooking or something.

 

Lance’s puppy-like desire to help and his eagerness to solve the mystery that had plagued him for years combined into one incredibly driving force and he was across the hall before he knew it, giving a look to the almost cute little wisps of smoke coming from beneath his neighbor’s door. Lance raised his hand and gave a tentative knock, listening closely for any sign of movement. When he heard nothing after a good solid minute of waiting (okay so maybe he was a little impatient), he reached out and grabbed the doorknob, turning it slowly and discovering that it was unlocked.

 

Now, Lance didn’t consider himself the kind of person that just walked into people’s homes. Even with Hunk and Pidge, his two best friends that shared an apartment and had told him he could literally just walk in at anytime, Lance still sent a text or rang the doorbell before coming inside. However, he’d already knocked and gotten no response, and he could clearly see the smoke still coming out from under the door. What if whoever was inside needed his help? What if they’d passed out because of the smoke? What if there was a real ass fire and they were about to be burnt alive? Lance couldn’t just assume nothing was wrong, and he figured the circumstances probably made it acceptable to just open the door and walk in.

 

So, he did.

 

He stopped to put his shirt over his nose and mouth almost immediately, coughing lowly as he waved his hand in front of his face and tried to clear the smoke so he could see. The apartment wasn’t noticeably warmer than the hallway, and maybe he hadn’t done a very inclusive search yet, but it didn’t see like anything was on fire. He did notice that the window facing the door was open and trying it’s damned best to air out the apartment, which made Lance snort a soft laugh as he investigated further.

 

“Hello?” Lance called out, his voice hesitant as he turned the corner to his right and entered the living room. The apartment layout was a mirror image of his own, so he didn’t have any trouble finding his way around. Almost as soon as his voice had tapered off, Lance heard a soft yelp from the kitchen and something crash to the floor before a head of long, shaggy black hair poked its way around the doorframe, narrowed eyes peering at him from behind long bangs and smoke.

 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” the man (Lance was 87% sure he was talking to a man) said, his voice just as distrustful as the look he was throwing Lance’s way.

 

“I heard the fire alarm and saw the smoke and you didn’t answer when I knocked, so I thought you might, you know, need some help,” Lance explained with an awkward one-shouldered shrug.

 

“I don’t need help,” he said dismissively, shaking his head as he eyes narrowed further into a look much closer to a defensive glare. Lance knew it was probably supposed to be intimidating, but he thought it really just looked kind of cute.  

 

“You’ve set off the fire alarm four times in the past hour,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “Are you sure you don’t need help? What are you even doing?”

 

The man huffed softly, just loud enough for Lance to hear. “I’m trying to cook for my brother. But I don’t need help.”

 

Lance arched his eyebrow more dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest. The man scowled back at him, shifting forward slightly and exposing more of his body as he leaned against the kitchen doorway, mimicking Lance’s stance. Lance let his eyes run over him quickly, taking note of his all black yet stylish outfit, his strong, confident build, and the fact that he was definitely at least a few inches shorter than Lance.  

 

“I don’t need help,” he said again when Lance didn’t move, standing there like the most incredulous tree imaginable.

 

“Okay, maybe not. But do you _want_ help? It seems like things are… not going well.”

 

Lance couldn’t tell if that was the wrong thing to say or the right thing, because while the scowl on his face deepened, the defensive square of his shoulders relaxed slightly. He let out what sounded to Lance like a defeated sigh and looked over his shoulder into the kitchen, turning back to look at Lance after a few moments of silence.

 

“Fine, you can help,” he snapped, seemingly caught off guard when Lance immediately bounced forward with an excited grin. “Just don’t be annoying.”

 

“No promises,” Lance said with a grin as he stopped in front of him, holding out his hand for him to shake. “I’m Lance, I live across the hall. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Keith,” he grumbled, giving Lance the weakest, most reluctant handshake possible before spinning on his heel and re-entering to his messy, smoking kitchen. Lance could definitely see what all his neighbors had warned him about—that whoever lived in this apartment was grumpy and rude and a bit of an ass—but he also thought they were wrong about him, too. Sure, Keith wasn’t the most welcoming or happy person Lance had ever met, but he wasn’t _mean._ He was just… anti-social. Lance could work with that.

 

“So, what were you making?” Lance asked, looking around as he followed Keith to the stove.

 

“Mac and cheese,” Keith said, an edge of shame clear in his voice. Who the hell couldn’t make mac and cheese without burning it four times? Keith grabbed the pan he’d evidently dropped on the ground when he heard Lance call out, showing him the charred remains that might have at one point been macaroni noodles.

 

“And, uh… what happened to it?” Lance asked, dumbfounded as to what Keith had done to turn it into… that. Mac and cheese was one of the easiest things to make, for god’s sake. How could it have gone so wrong?

 

“I don’t know,” Keith said with a small pout, setting the pan on the stove top and crossing his arms unhappily over his chest. “I went to take a short nap and when I came back it looked like this.”

 

“You—what?” Lance asked, eyes wide as he looked at him. “You can’t—You can’t go take a nap in the middle of cooking!”

 

“Why not?” Keith glared, his defensive posture coming back as he stared at Lance so intently he figured he might as well have been looking into his soul.

 

 _“Because,_ you end up burning whatever you’re cooking, exactly like you did,” Lance said, narrowing his eyes slightly in return. Lance was no expert chef, but he figured “no napping while cooking” was a pretty standard and obvious rule that was pretty easy to follow. Keith huffed, his breath blowing his bangs momentarily away from his face, just long enough to give Lance a glimpse of his greyish purple eyes and his furrowed brow.

 

“Fine, so maybe I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. But it never works any of the other times I try to make it, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

 

“So, you can’t cook, like, at all?” Lance asked, shifting his weight to one hip. “Not even mac and cheese?”

 

Keith continued to glare at him, seemingly getting more hostile the more apparent it became that Lance was mostly unaffected by the look. “I’m not the _best_ at it, no.”

 

Lance let out a soft snort; that seemed to be the understatement of the century.

 

“Why are you trying to cook, then? Can’t you just order takeout? Or, ask someone for help, maybe?”

 

Keith let out a sigh, rolling his eyes at Lance. “It’s my brother’s boyfriend’s birthday,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wanted to try to do something nice.”

 

Lance blinked, not having expected that as Keith’s answer. It seemed strangely sweet for someone like him. “Listen, Keith. That’s really sweet and I support you one hundred percent, but _mac and cheese?_ Is that really the best you could come up with?”

 

Keith’s glare came back full force, staring Lance down like he was prey. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, you can get out.”

 

“I’m not making fun of you,” Lance said quickly, holding his hands up. “I just wanna help you do something a little classier, you know?”

 

Keith continued to glare for a moment before his look softened again, not all the way but enough for Lance to relax and take a deep breath of relief. “Fine. But only because I want him to like me.”

 

Lance let a victorious grin take over his face, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Okay, I have to do some brainstorming, but that shouldn’t take long. Can I look in your cabinets?”

 

Keith’s scowl had returned but he nodded, leaning against the counter as he watched Lance immediately dive in and start poking around.

 

“So,” Lance said, pulling Keith’s fridge open, frowning slightly at the contents. It was about what he expected, knowing what he knew about Keith’s culinary skills, but still. Very sad. “You said you want him to like you. Have you never met before, or did you just get off to a bad start?”

 

Lance had the increasing feeling that Keith wasn’t one for small talk, if the heavy sigh and pregnant pause after Lance’s question were anything to go by. He waited patiently, though, giving him the chance to speak if he wanted to.

 

“We’ve never met,” Keith said eventually, his voice quieter than it had been before. “He and my brother live a few hours away, and this is the first time they’ve come down since they got together. They have pretty busy lives and important jobs and stuff.”

 

“Are you nervous?” Lance asked, moving away from the fridge to peek into the cabinets surrounding it. Keith had pretty much no food for Lance to work with, not that he was surprised. Keith was quiet long enough that Lance looked over his shoulder, biting back a smile as he saw Keith shooting daggers at the ground as he shuffled his feet. He was definitely nervous. “It’ll be just fine. I’m sure he’ll love you.”

 

Keith scoffed softly, glancing up to give Lance a searching look. “What makes you so sure?”  

 

“Well, you’ve done nothing but glare at me since I walked in, and I don’t hate you,” Lance said with a shrug, smiling at him. “I figure that’s a pretty good start.”

 

Keith shook his head and looked away, but Lance thought he almost caught a glimpse of a smile before Keith ducked his head again. Lance grinned and hopped up onto the counter, kicking his legs. “Alright, so... I’m thinking pizza.”

 

“Pizza?” Keith asked, his eyebrow quirked adorably as he looked up at Lance again. “How is that classier than mac and cheese? And I don’t have any of the ingredients you need to make pizza.”

 

“I do,” Lance said, waving his hand at him. “I can run over to my apartment and grab them. Also, pizza is clearly the perfect choice. It’s classier than mac and cheese because it gets more mature the more gross ingredients you put on it, like olives and shit, you know? And when you put gross adult toppings on it, it becomes the perfect balance of a little fancy but not too much, which makes it perfect for a birthday dinner at your boyfriend’s brother’s apartment whom you’ve never met.”

 

Keith continued to stare at him skeptically, and Lance got the feeling Keith didn’t really know how to do much else other than stare at people.

 

“Just text your brother and ask what gross adult toppings his boyfriend likes,” Lance said, sighing in exasperation. “Then we’ll go over and see what I have at my place.”

 

Keith sighed in return and pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping rhymically over the screen quickly before he returned his attention to where Lance was perched on his counter. “There.”

 

“Tell me when he replies,” Lance said, leaning back on his arms and resting his head on the door of the cabinet behind him. “And in the meantime, tell me more about him.”

 

Lance really just wanted to know more about Keith, but he seemed closed off and stubborn in a way that would take more than one conversation to work through, so he figured his brother was a safer topic. Plus, he might be able to learn a little about Keith through talking about his brother, anyway.

 

Keith bit his lip, silence stretching between them before he seemingly made a decision and spoke. “He’s a freelance architect, started his own business and everything. He’s three years and eight months older than me, his name is Shiro, he was in a car crash and now has a prosthetic right arm, and he tries to act tough and intimidating but he’s really the biggest sweetheart there is.”

 

“So, kind of like you?” Lance teased, unsurprised when Keith’s scowl (it was really more of a grumpy pout and Lance was finding it cuter and cuter the more he saw it) returned.

 

“No, not like me. Anyway, Shiro has always been really kind and supportive my entire life and his boyfriend is probably the exact same way, and before me and Shiro had a balance where he was the nice brother and I was the brother no one liked as much but now I’m just going to be outnumbered and it’s gonna be horrible because I’ll have to watch them be sweet and cute and gay and probably end up saving the world or something while I sit here in my empty apartment and be bitter and unpleasant,” Keith rambled, his eyes widening slowly once he registered what he’d said.

 

Lance grinned at him softly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you don’t seem nervous at all.”

 

“Shut up,” Keith snapped, jumping slightly as his phone buzzed in his hand.

 

“Listen, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Your brother is obviously a good person which means he has good taste in men, which means his boyfriend is gonna be amazing and love you immediately, and if you spend enough time around them they’ll infect you with their gay gooeyness and you’ll be much less bitter and unpleasant,” Lance said wisely.

 

Keith sent him a warning look as he opened his text from Shiro, mumbling softly to himself as he read over whatever he said. “All of these things are gross,” he reported when he was done reading, wrinkling his nose.

 

“But I might have them. Let’s go.” Lance hopped down from the counter and motioned for Keith to follow as he lead them through Keith’s apartment and out the door, across the hall and over to his own. He pushed the door open and thanked his past self for cleaning up recently as he made his way to the kitchen, Keith trailing behind him and trying to hide the fact that he was looking around in wonder.

 

“Never been in someone else’s house before?” Lance teased, grinning at Keith as he started gathering the basic pizza making ingredients from around the kitchen.

 

“Of course I have,” Keith snapped, glaring at his phone to avoid Lance’s gaze. If Lance wasn’t mistaken, he’d even gotten him to blush a little. _Victory._

 

“Sure, sure,” Lance said, laughing softly at the scandalized look Keith gave him. “Anyway, what’s on the list?”

 

“Uh… Olives, feta cheese, mushrooms, spinach, and any kind of meat except for seafood.”

 

“We don’t eat seafood in this house,” Lance said darkly shaking his head in disgust. He then took a second to think, giving Keith a nod a moment later. “Okay, well, I think I have all of that, but let me look.”  

 

Keith gave Lance a nod in return and went back to leaning against the counter as Lance danced around him, pulling out ingredients and setting them in a pile next to Keith’s hip. It didn’t take him very long to find what he needed, only a few minutes passing by before he was shoving things into Keith’s arms for him to carry.

 

“Oh, before we leave,” Lance said, scooping up whatever was left in his own arms. “What do you want for your pizza?”

 

“My pizza…?” Keith asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Yup,” Lance said, nodding. “You said the things on Mr. Boyfriend’s pizza are gross, so obviously we need to make one you’re going to eat. You know, so you don’t starve and all that.”

 

There it was again, that barely detectable blush that Lance could hardly catch a glimpse of through Keith’s inky black curtain of hair. He ducked his head, looking away from Lance and towards the various food items in his hands, shifting slightly. “I’m fine with just cheese.”

 

Lance laughed softly, nodding as he nudged him towards the door. “Alright. Let’s go then, mullet.”

 

* * *

 

Forty minutes later found them back in Keith’s apartment with two beautifully made homemade pizzas, one covered in gross adult toppings and one piled with melty, gooey cheese that made Lance want to swallow the pizza whole.

 

“See? Look how classy that pizza looks,” Lance said, grinning at Keith proudly.

 

“It does look a lot better than my mac and cheese,” Keith grumbled, the corners of his lips twitching up the tiniest bit.

 

Lance laughed, nodding. “It does. You’re welcome.” He closed the oven door again once they had looked their fill, turning it off but leaving the pizzas inside to keep them warm as they waited for Keith’s guests to arrive. “How much longer until the gays arrive?”

 

“Shiro said they’re about five minutes out,” Keith said, checking his phone.

 

“All right, I should probably head out, then,” Lance said, stretching his arms above his head with a soft groan.

 

“What?” Keith asked, whipping his head up to look at Lance so fast that Lance was worried he’d broken his neck. “You, um… You don’t have to leave.”

 

Lance quirked a brow at him, a small smile on his lips. “I wouldn't want to intrude. You’ve got a very important first impression to make.”  

 

Keith shook his head, biting his lip as he tapped his foot against the floor. It was so easy to tell when Keith was flustered, Lance couldn’t believe how emotionless he seemed the rest of the time. “No, you wouldn’t be intruding. You… You really helped me out a lot. I want you to meet them.” Keith looked up then, his eyes widening in panic when he saw the surprised expression on Lance’s face. “That is, only if you want to. I don’t want you to feel like you have to, because you definitely don’t—”

 

Lance laughed softly, shaking his head as he held his hands up in front of him, startling Keith into silence. “It’s okay, Keith. If you’re okay with me staying, then I’m okay with it, too. What’s Mr. Boyfriend’s name? I need to be prepared for a proper Lance McClain introduction.”

 

“Adam,” Keith said, and dammit, Lance was so close to pulling a real smile out of him! He just needed to try a little harder.

 

“Adam,” Lance repeated, nodding. “Got it.”

 

“They’ll be here any minute. What’s the plan?”

 

“I’ll cut the pizzas, you set the table and make it look nice,” Lance said, spinning and pulling open the oven again, carefully extracting the pizzas one at a time and setting them on the counter. He then began pulling open random drawers, letting out a noise of triumph when he found what he was looking for. He heard Keith shuffling around behind him as he carefully examined the pizzas, tapping his fingers on his chin. “What do you think, squares or triangles?”

 

“Squares are fancier, aren’t they?”

 

“Mm, you’re absolutely right,” Lance hummed, beginning to slowly cut the first pizza into squares, making sure it was neat and accurate.

 

“How do you set the table for a nice yet slightly informal pizza birthday dinner?” Keith grumbled, appearing next to him as he worked.

 

“Uh… Nice table cloth, regular plates and silverware, candle or flower if you have it?” Lance said, shrugging.

 

“Ew, that sounds like a date,” Keith said, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Then you do whatever you want, Keith,” Lance said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a smile. “Just make the table look like you put thought into it, you know?”

 

Keith made another grumbling noise and Lance laughed softly, biting his lip as he started on cutting the second pizza. They worked in silence for a few minutes until Keith’s phone buzzed again, almost at the same time there was a knock at the door.

 

“Wait, did you get a cake for him?” Lance asked as Keith set the last plate on the table and headed towards the front door. “You can’t possibly have a birthday celebration without a cake, Keith.”

 

Keith nodded, walking backwards as he tilted his head towards the fridge. “It’s in the freezer. Adam apparently refuses to eat anything other than ice cream cake.”

 

“Good man,” Lance said with a small grin, nodding in approval. Keith turned around then and disappeared around the corner, the room shrouded in silence for a few moments until he finally pulled open the door.

 

“Hey, Shiro and Adam,” Lance heard Keith say, the nervous lilt obvious in his voice. Lance smiled and walked a bit closer, poking his head around the doorway and into the hall where one very buff man and one very scrawny by comparison man were stood. The very buff man seemed surprised when he caught sight of Lance’s head beyond Keith’s shoulder, and Lance sent him a friendly wave and a beaming smile when he continued to look, his eyes flicking between Lance and Keith curiously.

 

“Hey, Keith,” The buff one said once he’d stopped casting inquiring glances in Lance’s direction, reaching out to ruffle Keith’s hair. He must be the brother, then. “Long time no see.”

 

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith grumbled, his hand tightening on the doorknob as he ducked his head away from Shiro’s offending hand, the tiniest almost-smile stretched across his lips. God, what did it take to get Keith to actually smile? “Come on in.”

 

It was obvious that Keith wasn’t one to play host often, his words and movements awkward and unsure. Lance found the whole thing incredibly endearing, and he watched the three of them silently shuffle down the hallway towards where he was standing with a small grin on his face, raising his hand in greeting.

 

“Hello, Shiro, brother of the wonderfully magnificent Keith,” Lance said, grin still in place as he stepped back and let them pass into the living room. “And a festive hello to you, Adam, resident birthday boyfriend of Shiro. Welcome to Keith’s home.”

 

“Thanks,” Adam said with a soft laugh, looking around the room curiously. “I’m glad to be here.”

 

“You’re better at welcoming people into Keith’s home than Keith is,” Shiro said with a soft snort, ruffling Keith’s hair again. “Maybe you could give him lessons.”

 

“Oh, I’m trying my best,” Lance said with a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “He has much to learn.”

 

“I’m sure he does,” Shiro laughed, nodding. “One of which is learning how to introduce people to one another.” That particular sentence was coupled with a _very_ pointed look in Keith’s direction, with raised eyebrows and everything. That made Lance’s grin widen further as he turned his gaze on Keith as well, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for him to give a proper introduction. The man in question was in the process of withering, curling in on himself in what was probably both discomfort and embarrassment.

 

“Shiro, Adam,” Keith said after a moment, pointing in their direction before swinging his finger to point at Lance instead. “This is Lance.”

 

The room was silent afterward, everyone clearly expecting Keith to say more. “That’s it?”

 

“What else is there?” Keith asked, fidgeting under Shiro’s intensely curious gaze.

 

“Maybe how you know him? Why he’s here?” Adam offered, shrugging. “You didn’t say anything about there being another person here when you invited us over. Not that we mind, of course. We’re just, you know. Curious.”

 

Lance very quickly decided that he liked Adam. He liked Shiro, too, for that matter, and he was glad he made the venture across the hall earlier that day, even if just so that he could help give these two the birthday dinner celebration they so clearly deserved.

 

Keith let out a long sigh, letting his head tip back. “He’s my neighbor. I set off the fire alarm… a few times while trying to make dinner and he came over and offered to help, so I told him he could stay.”

 

“Keith? Accepting help?” Shiro asked, his expression both surprised and impressed. “Can’t say I saw that one coming.”

 

Keith scowled at him, although it held considerably less heat than it did when that same look was turned on Lance. “Well, just be glad I did or else you’d be eating charred mac and cheese for dinner.”

 

Shiro looked less surprised at that, a fond smile stretching across his lips. “Still no good at cooking, huh?”

 

“No,” Keith said, glaring at him. “But it doesn’t matter, because Lance is.”

 

“I mean, we haven’t technically tried any of it,” Lance said, his cheeks dusted light pink at how obviously Keith was trying to get Shiro and Adam to acknowledge Lance’s help. “It could be horrible. It’s just not burnt to a crisp.”

 

“Mm, I don’t know,” Adam said with a shrug, taking a deep breath. “It _smells_ pretty good.”

 

Shiro nodded in agreement, a kind smile on his face. “Thanks for helping Keith out, Lance. I’m sure it was no easy task.”

 

“It definitely took a bit of convincing,” Lance said, shrugging. “But it wasn’t a big deal. I’m happy to help.”

 

“I’ve tried to get Keith to let me teach him how to cook for years,” Shiro said with a forlorn sigh, staring dramatically into the distance. “But alas, I’m not a cute Latino that lives across the hall.”

 

Lance let out a surprised laugh at that, his amusement only spurred by the intense look of betrayal on Keith’s face. “Shut up, Shiro!”

 

It was obvious by Shiro’s own laugh that he had no regrets, which made Lance smile. Yup, he definitely liked him.

 

“Well, the pizza’s gonna get cold. How about we go eat?” Lance suggested, still giggling softly as Keith pouted behind his curtain of hair, his arms crossed over his chest. “Keith worked very hard to make his plain cheese pizza.”

 

“I fucking hate all of you,” Keith said, glaring daggers at them.

 

“What?” Lance asked, leading them into the kitchen and moving to bring the pizzas to the middle of the table as the others sat down. “It’s a very nice pizza.”

 

“Shut up,” Keith grumbled, sitting down across the table from Shiro and Adam.

 

Lance simply grinned and sat next to him, presenting the meal with a dramatic flourish. “Bone apple teeth, everyone.”

 

Adam snorted a laugh and reached out to grab a few sophisticated squares of pizza, sliding them onto his plate. Lance carefully analyzed his expression as he took a bite and decided that Adam was pleased with the outcome, which stoked his ego a little more than it should have. It was just pizza, okay, he knew that. But it was also _birthday_ pizza. That made it all the more important.

 

Once sure that Adam was happy with the meal Lance helped provide, he grabbed a few squares of his own, shying away from the gross adult pizza and snatching some of Keith’s plain cheese, despite the quite unwelcoming glare sent his way.

 

“So, I have a question,” Lance asked as everyone settled down to eat, looking at him expectantly. “Does Keith always glare this much?”

 

Shiro nodded immediately, taking a moment to swallow. “Yes. Well, technically yes, but depending on the company he doesn’t always mean it.”

 

“So when he glares at you it’s more of a brotherly ‘I want you dead’ look?” Lance asked.

 

Shiro nodded again, shooting him a wide smile. “Yup, you got it. What you have to understand about Keith is he’s a huge softie, but all that sunshine and warmth is hidden behind layers upon layers of dirt. You can’t get to know him at all without digging a little, even if it’s your God given right as his brother.”

 

“I can see that,” Lance said, glancing over at Keith and smiling when he saw how red his cheeks were. “And what about smiling? Does he do a lot of that?”

 

Shiro took a moment to think about that one, humming softly. “It depends on how long you’re with him. He kind of has to warm up to it, you know?”

 

“I see,” Lance said, taking a bite of his pizza as he considered that.

 

Silence fell over the table then, the only sounds those of biting and chewing and the acquiring of more squares. It didn’t seem like very long at all before Lance had eaten his fill, and his good manner senses were tingling at him and telling him it was time for him to go. He stood and carried his plate to the kitchen, rinsing it off and setting it next to the sink with the rest of the ever-growing pile of dishes. He then returned to the table, giving them all a smile as he stood next to his empty chair.

 

“Well, it’s been really nice meeting you all, but I better go.”

 

“Are you sure?” Shiro asked, furrowing his brow. “We wouldn’t mind at all if you stayed.”

 

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Lance said, waving him off. “I’ll give you some family bonding time. I’ve gotta go feed my cat, anyway.”

 

“You have a cat?” Keith asked, looking up at him.

 

“Yup,” Lance grinned, nodding. “Come over someday and you can meet her.”

 

Keith’s eyes widened slightly at that and he looked away again, giving him a silent nod. Lance only laughed, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m gonna head out, but I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening.”

 

“You, too, Lance,” Adam said, smiling at him. “Thanks for helping Keith out with this, I really appreciate it.”

 

“It was no problem, really. Happy birthday.”

 

Adam’s smile widened as Lance waved at them all and left the room, making his way back through Keith’s apartment and across the hall to his own, smiling happily.

 

After all, nothing felt better than another successful social interaction.

 

* * *

 

As social as Lance was, people didn’t really knock on his door. When his friends came over, they just came in, especially since they knew he was too lazy to get up and open the door for them anyway. Even when Lance ordered food, he had normally procrastinated ordering it for so long that by the time it got there he was starving, so he was waiting at the door and staring through the peephole so he could open the door before they ever had to let him know they had arrived (which did freak most of them out a little).

 

So it came as a reasonable surprise when someone knocked on Lance’s door at a time that he definitely, definitely was not expecting visitors. He was already in his pajamas, for one thing, and whoever was knocking was so insistent he answer the door that he didn’t even have time to rinse off his face mask before he did.

 

He pulled the door open already not knowing what to expect, a huffy retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but the _last_ thing Lance expected to find was a very shy looking Keith, holding aloft a plate of incredibly burnt, vaguely holiday shaped cookies.

 

Keith didn’t seem like the type to get very into Christmas, nor did he seem like the type to willingly bake cookies and bring them to his neighbors whom he had met once, many weeks after he had met them, and yet here he was.

 

“These are for you,” Keith said awkwardly when Lance said nothing, still staring at him in what he assumed was probably incredibly pleased surprise.

 

“I don’t want to offend the cook, but I don’t think I can eat these,” Lance said, accepting the plate from him anyway.

 

“I know,” Keith said, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I forgot that thing you said about not falling asleep while cooking. But… I figured the thought behind it was the same.”

 

Lance let out a small laugh, shaking his head. Unbelievable. “You’re right. I appreciate you bringing these over, Keith, even if they are inedible. Can I ask what they’re for, though?”

 

Keith only blushed harder at that, looking at everything that wasn’t Lance as he forced out an answer he so obviously didn’t want to give. “Yeah, um… They’re for, you know. Helping out. With Adam’s birthday. That was… um,” Keith took a second to clear his throat, biting quickly at his lip. “That was really nice, and you didn’t have to do that. Especially since I wasn’t, you know… The most welcoming person at any point.”

 

Lance stared at him, blinking at least four times before Keith’s words fully sank in. That was… Damn, that was actually really sweet. “Are you being threatened, Keith? Do you need some help? I’m not, like, an expert at handling dangerous situations but I’m sure we could figure something out.”  

 

Keith shook his head, the closest Lance had ever seen him to smiling. “No, Lance. I’m not being threatened. I just… wanted to do something nice.”

 

“Well… I really appreciate it,” Lance said, smiling at him happily. “That’s really sweet of you.” Keith’s blush made a quick return at that, his eyes darting away again. “But see,” Lance continued, his smile shifting into a teasing grin. “Now you’ve got me craving cookies, so I think I’m gonna have to come over and show you how to make them properly. You know, without burning them.”

 

“Y-You wanna… come over?” Keith asked shakily, eyes wide.

 

“Is that okay?” Lance asked, worrying he’d crossed a line or something. Keith didn’t seem… thrilled.

 

“Yeah! Yeah,” Keith said quickly, his voice rising in his panic to reassure him. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door with a plate of black cookies, but here we are,” Lance said, grinning. “Give me five minutes to take off my face mask and then I’ll be right over, ‘kay?” Keith gave a stiff nod in reply and turned on his heel, lifting his hand to wave before swiftly disappearing into his apartment.

 

Lance grinned and danced back into his own, setting the plate of cookies in the kitchen before rushing to the bathroom, rinsing away his mask much more sloppily than he normally did in his haste to get across the hall. Lance was excited by the chance to spend more time with Keith, excited by the chance to get to know him and become his friend and maybe even earn a whole ass smile from him. There was just something about Keith, and Lance didn’t know if it was the years and years of mystery surrounding him or the first impression he’d had of him or the little bits of his true self that Lance was starting to see peek through, but he wanted to spend every second with Keith that he could. Even if it meant his skin suffered for it a bit.

 

Once his mask was off and his face was dry, Lance left his apartment, having to keep himself from skipping in excitement as he crossed the hall and knocked on Keith’s door.

 

“It’s open!” Keith called from inside, his voice muffled through the door. Lance turned the knob and stepped inside, Keith’s apartment looking largely the same as the last time he’d been inside, although considerably less smokey.

 

“Keith?” Lance asked as he moved farther inside, shutting the door behind him.

 

“In the kitchen,” Keith replied, causing Lance to smile and head that way.

 

“Whatcha doin’?” Lance asked as he approached, leaning against the counter next to where Keith was hunched over a cookbook.

 

“Reading the directions again. I think I did it really wrong,” Keith said, his brow furrowed as he read.

 

“Besides the whole burning them thing?”

 

“Yes,” Keith said dryly, huffing as he stood up straight. “Cooking sucks.”

 

“This is technically baking,” Lance pointed out unhelpfully, grinning at him.

 

“Shut up,” Keith said, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re not helping.”

 

“What do you mean? That’s why I’m here,” Lance laughed.

 

“Then do it! Teach me how to make cookies that are actually edible.”

 

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” Lance teased, pulling the book closer so he could take a look at the ingredients. Once he’d looked at the list he scanned Keith’s counters, only seeing half of the things it called for. “Where’s the rest?”

 

“The rest of what?”

 

“The ingredients, Keith. You only have half the things you need.”

 

“That’s all I used. I didn’t know what some of the things were.”

 

Lance let out a slow sigh, steepling his hands beneath his nose. “And you didn’t think to look them up?”

 

“No…? Can’t you just make shit up in baking?”

 

“No, Keith. You cannot. You can substitute certain things, and you can get creative within certain parameters, but you cannot just leave out half of the ingredients because you don’t know what they are.”

 

Keith let out a sigh of his own, tipping his head back. “Fine. What do we need that I don’t already have out?”

 

“Granulated sugar.”

 

“Yeah, nope. I have no idea what that is.”

 

“It’s just regular sugar, Keith,” Lance said, struggling to hold on to his irritation. It was kind of cute that Keith was so absolutely clueless. “Do you have that?”

 

“Oh. Yeah,” Keith said, turning to reach into one of the cabinets above his head. “Why don’t they just put regular sugar on there?”

 

“For clarification, Keith,” Lance said, smiling as he moved on to the next thing, a soft smack resonating through the kitchen as Keith set the bag of sugar on the counter with the other ingredients. “All right, we also need vanilla extract.”

 

“What does that look like?” Keith asked, tapping the countertop with his fingertips.

 

“It normally comes in a pretty small little dark brown-ish black bottle that says vanilla extract on it.”

 

“So it’s, what? Liquid?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Keith thought for a second before giving a nod, leaning down and digging around behind one of the doors down low.

 

“So, I have to ask,” Lance said as he watched, tilting his head to rest on his shoulder. “What do you eat if you don’t know how to cook?”

 

“Mostly takeout,” Keith said with a shrug, pulling out a bottle to show Lance. “Is it this?”

 

“Uh… no,” Lance said, shaking his head. “That’s so unhealthy, dude.”

 

Keith shrugged again, putting the bottle back as he continued looking. “It’s better than hiring someone to cook for me like a babysitter.”

 

“Um, no. I don’t think so,” Lance said, shaking his head. “Have you ever tried learning to cook? Like, really tried?”

 

Keith frowned slightly, pulling out another bottle. “Is it this?”

 

“That’s the one,” Lance nodded. “Don’t avoid the question, though.”

 

Keith sighed, standing up and setting the bottle with the rest of the ingredients. “Kind of. Like Shiro said, he’s tried to teach me a few times, but it just doesn’t compute with me. And after awhile I just get frustrated and embarrassed and thing start getting even worse. It just doesn’t work.”

 

“Maybe you should try a different method, then. Have you tried learning on your own?” Lance asked, skimming the list to see what else they were missing.

 

“Not really,” Keith said, shuffling his feet. “It makes me feel stupid, and that’s not good when there’s no one here to stop me.”

 

“Do you _want_ to learn?” Lance asked, raising a questioning brow at Keith. “That’s an important component if you want to be successful. Also, we need baking powder.”

 

“It’d be nice, yeah,” Keith said, walking across the kitchen to pull open another door and extract a box from inside. “I guess it’s just never seemed like much of a priority.”

 

“Consider this your first lesson, then,” Lance said, giving him a smile as he set the baking powder down. “And consider me your new teacher.”

 

“You don’t have to do that, Lance,” Keith said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your problem.”

 

“But I want to help,” Lance said, tilting his head. “Hence why I’m here right now, and why I helped with Adam’s dinner.”

 

Keith was quiet, chewing distractedly on his bottom lip as he picked at the corner of the baking powder box, his eyes trained on its bright surface. “Fine,” he said eventually, looking up to meet Lance’s eyes. “I’ll let you give me lessons, or whatever. But only if you promise to stop trying after I prove that it’s hopeless.”

 

“We’ll never get anywhere with an attitude like that,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, Keith. I’ll teach you so fucking good. All we need to do is find some almond extract and we’ll be good to get started.”

 

Keith furrowed his brow, looking at Lance. “Um, I don’t think I have any of that.”

 

“If you did, where would it be?”

 

Keith pointed at the same cabinet he got the vanilla extract from, shrugging one shoulder. Lance gave a determined nod and walked over, squatting down to poke around inside.

 

“What is all this stuff?” Lance asked, sifting through the mostly unmarked bottles of various liquids all thrown into a basket.

 

“Um, a lot of things,” Keith said, shrugging. “Some food coloring, some syrup, some water someone gave me as a gag gift, some other things. I don’t really remember.”

 

“We need to reorganize your kitchen,” Lance muttered, pulling the basket out and sitting on the ground so he could sort through it easier. To his surprise, he found a bottle of almond extract at the very bottom of the container, the seal unbroken. “Aha! Here it is.”

 

“Is that everything we need?” Keith asked as Lance handed the extract to him, sliding the basket back into place and standing up.

 

“Not quite,” Lance said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping it a few times before setting it on the counter with a grin, the sound of soft Christmas music coming from the speaker. Keith raised an eyebrow, giving him a look.

 

“Is that really necessary?”

 

“Absolutely essential,” Lance confirmed, nodding as he grabbed the cookbook and moved it closer to the pile of ingredients, reading through the directions. “Now, let’s get started. Lesson number one. Wait, no, two. Lesson one was look up things you don’t know. Lesson two—Wait, still no. This is lesson three. Lesson two is to gather all the ingredients before you start. Okay, I’m positive this time. Lesson three, always read through all the directions before you get started. It’s important to have a general idea of what you need to do and when, so you don’t have any surprises later. It’s also a good idea to gather any other supplies you’ll need, like bowls and spoons and whisks and things like that, since the steps are time sensitive sometimes.”

 

Keith gave Lance a weary look but nodded, motioning for him to continue.

 

“How would you prefer to learn?” Lance asked as he pulled open a few drawers, searching for measuring spoons.

 

“Um, I normally learn best by watching,” Keith said, opening the correct drawer and handing Lance what he was looking for.

 

“Okay,” Lance said, nodding before he paused. “Keith, these are clean.”

 

“Yeah…?”

 

“How did you make these cookies before if you didn’t use your measuring spoons?”

 

“I guessed,” Keith shrugged, biting his lip.

 

“Okay, well, as a general rule of thumb, don’t do that,” Lance said, shaking his head a little.

 

“Got it,” Keith said, nodding. “No making shit up and no guessing.”

 

“Those are pretty much the same thing, but yes,” Lance said, laughing softly. “All right, why don’t you go preheat the oven while I put the butter and sugar in a bowl? You can watch me mix it once you’re back.”

 

Keith nodded again and looked at the page before walking off to preheat the oven to the right temperature, leaving Lance to measure out the butter and sugar and dump it all in a bowl. He picked up the handheld mixer that was left on Keith’s counter as Keith returned, watching Lance closely. He walked Keith through the process, teaching him how to make sure everything stayed inside the bowl and how to know when it had been mixed enough.

 

They moved on from there, going through the steps slowly. Lance made sure to explain everything in detail, encouraging Keith to ask questions about anything he didn’t understand. It was a fairly simple recipe, but then again Keith didn’t know the difference between tablespoons and teaspoons, so they did run into a couple bumps along the way. Overall, however, Keith seemed to understand most of what Lance was telling him, which was good. It seemed like Keith just put too much pressure on himself to know everything, so Lance tried his best to curve his line of thinking in a different, more positive direction.

 

Once the dough was all mixed together, Lance divided it into two sections and floured the surface of the counter before plopping a ball of dough down in front of Keith, spreading the cookie cutters out between them. “You seemed pretty good at this part, so I’m not too worried,” Lance said, smiling at Keith as he handed him a rolling pin covered in flour. “Just try to make the thickness consistent, and not too thin or too thick.”

 

Keith nodded, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he got to work, his expression focused and concentrated. God, where did Keith get off on being so goddamn adorable? It really wasn’t fair. Lance smiled and shook his head as he began to roll out his own dough, going slow and paying careful attention to the thickness. This was always his favorite part, other than decorating. He liked trying to make them perfect, even if he realistically knew he never would. It was a fun challenge.

 

Once his dough was rolled out, Lance grabbed a few cookie cutters and laid them out, trying to take advantage of the space he had as he mumbled the words to various holiday songs under his breath. He then pressed them out, handling them carefully so as to make sure he didn’t mess up any of the finer details, or leave fingerprints in the surface. When he looked up to carry his first completed cookie to the tray, he noticed Keith was staring at him, an unfamiliar look on his face.

 

“What?” Lance asked, flicking his eyebrows at Keith as he carefully set his cookie on the baking sheet set next to the stove.

 

“Nothing,” Keith said, his cheeks coloring slightly, probably from having been caught staring.

 

“I don’t believe youuuu,” Lance sang, scooping up a second cookie and repeating the trip.

 

“Seriously, Lance. It’s nothing,” Keith said, shaking his head as he went back to his own work.

 

“Fine,” Lance sighed dramatically, the kitchen falling silent except for the music still playing quietly in the background. They took turns carrying their cookies to the tray and filled it up quickly, making sure to leave enough room between each one. Lance poked fun at a few of Keith’s misshapen creations which pulled half-smiles and eyerolls from him in retaliation, making Lance all the more determined to witness a real, genuine, toothy Keith smile.

 

“We can pop those in the oven once you put your last one on there,” Lance said as he began to clean up the mess of ingredients left on the counter, leaving the unused dough where it was. “I think the recipe said it makes three dozen.”

 

Keith nodded and grabbed the tray once his last cookie was in place, sliding it in the oven quickly. “Now what?”

 

“Now, we wait six to eight minutes for them to bake,” Lance said, shoving the bottles of extract back in their weird various liquid caddy. “You can go ahead and cut out more cookies if you want, but unless you have another baking tray to put them on, we don’t really have anything to do with them.”

 

“What if I don’t want to wait six to eight minutes?” Keith asked with a small pout, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Then you don’t get to decorate those when they come out,” Lance said, tsking softly. “And everyone knows that’s the best part.”

 

Keith groaned softly, leaning against the counter across the kitchen from Lance and crossing his arms over his chest as Lance gathered up more ingredients to put away. “Fine. But only because I want proof that mine came out better than yours.”

 

“Wha—!” Lance said in disbelief, whirling around to face Keith as the bag of flour slipped from his fingers, landing on the ground at his feet and sending a puff of flour cascading over nearly his entire body. There was a moment of silence before Keith burst out laughing, sounding absolutely nothing like Lance had expected. Now that he thought about it, this was the first time Lance had heard Keith really, truly laugh, and it was the best thing he’d ever heard. Keith’s voice was low and sweet, wrapping Lance in an immediate sense of comfort that he’d never get from any sugar cookie or Christmas song. Lance was blindsided by it, to tell the truth, and that wasn’t even including the radiant smile that came with it, stretched wide across his face.

 

It had been a long time since Lance had had a crush, but it was impossible to ignore what that tiny little happy-flutter in his chest was. It made sense, really. Lance had thought Keith was adorable since the moment he met him, and although this was only their second time spending time together, Lance hadn’t stopped thinking about him the entire time that had spanned between the two events. Lance had even caught a few glances of Keith outside the walls of his apartment, those glances alone enough to get Lance’s heart racing.

 

Lance had a big fat gay crush on the awkward emo that lived across the hall and it was already shaping up to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

 

The sound of Keith’s laugh tapering off was enough to shake Lance from his reverie, bringing him back to the present where Keith ws full-on grinning at him and Lance was covered in flour.

 

“I blame you,” Lance said, pointing a finger at Keith before he began trying to flick and brush the flour off of his person. “This is your fault. How dare you think your cookies are going to come out better than mine. I’m the sugar cookie _master.”_

 

“I don’t know, you taught me pretty well,” Keith teased, and _Jesus,_ Lance couldn’t get over the sight of that fucking dazzling smile.

 

“There’s no way you passed my skill level after _one_ lesson,” Lance scoffed, giving up on cleaning himself off and stooping down to pick up the offending bag of flour, handing it to Keith to put away since Lance didn’t know where it went.

 

“Mm, you’re right,” Keith said smugly, taking the flour from him. “But it’s fun to watch you get defensive.”

 

Lance let out an offended sound, smacking Keith on the shoulder as he laughed again, turning to open a cabinet door and shove the flour inside. “You’re the worst, Keith… Huh. That really loses some of its effect when I don’t know your last name.”

 

“And you never will,” Keith said with a solemn nod.

 

“That’s rude,” Lance huffed, walking over to the sink to start rinsing out the measuring cups and spoons they had used. “Why not?”

 

“I don’t like people knowing things about me,” Keith said shrugging. “It makes me feel vulnerable.”

 

“I guess that’s fair,” Lance sighed dramatically. “But mark my words, I’m gonna figure it out someday.”

 

“Uh huh, sure,” Keith said, his lips quirking into a smile. God, that was really not helping the whole crush business.

 

“Don’t doubt me, Keith. I could steal your wallet and look at your I.D.”

 

“You could,” Keith said, walking over to start arranging the cookie cutters on top of the dough again, since the first batch was getting close to being done. “But will you?”

 

“You never know,” Lance said with a shrug, drying his hands before joining him to do the same thing with his own dough. “I’m unpredictable like that.”

 

“Uh huh, sure,” Keith repeated, that stupid smile back on his face again. It felt like Keith was smiling more often than not, now, and Lance couldn’t help but feel proud. He was making progress, and it was the best fucking kind. It was simple proof that Keith trusted him, that he was getting more comfortable around him and didn’t think he was annoying like everyone else did. It was the most reassuring acceptance that Lance had ever received.

 

“Just wait and see, Keith. I don’t give up,” Lance said, sticking his tongue out playfully.

 

“Impress me, then,” Keith said, sticking his tongue out in return. Lance’s reply was cut off by the sound of the oven beeping, letting them know the first batch of cookies was done. He skipped over to the oven and pulled them out, setting them on top of a hot pad on the counter next to the stove before turning back to Keith with a flourish.

 

“Lesson number whatever the fuck! If you take something out of the oven and it’s done, don’t set it on the stove—because as we all know, heat travels up, so the oven will keep heating the bottom of the food and you can end up burning something that was once perfect.”

 

“Jesus, how do you know all this?” Keith asked, raising a brow at Lance.

 

“I used to cook with my mama all the time,” Lance said, shrugging. “It was kind of our thing, especially since none of my siblings wanted to do it. I guess I just paid a lot of attention.”

 

“Well, good thing,” Keith said, the smile he gave Lance much softer than the others he’d seen so far, a million times more intimate. Lance felt his cheeks heat slightly, his eyes darting away from Keith to look for a spatula so he could move the cookies once they had cooled.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Lance said, nodding. “It comes in handy sometimes.”

 

“Like when your neighbor is entirely incompetent and needs all the help he can possibly get,” Keith said with a small grin. Lance let his eyes travel back to Keith’s face, a soft laugh escaping his mouth.

 

“Yeah, for times like those.”

 

Keith shook his head and went back to cutting out cookies, leaving Lance to slide the others off the tray and set them on a part of the counter they’d cleared off and dedicated to decorating. He left the empty pan where it was once he was done and returned to his dough, beginning to transport and craft a second batch. They worked a bit quicker this time around, and the tray was back in the oven before Lance knew it, ready to start baking.

 

Once Keith finished resetting the time on the timer, Lance grabbed his hand and yanked him over to the decorating station, grinning excitedly. It was easy to tell which cookies were Lance’s—pristine, uniform and neat—and which ones were Keith’s—pinched, uneven, and slightly lumpy—so it took barely second to sort the between the two. After that, it was simply a matter of deciding what materials to use, coming up with a vision for each cookie and carrying it out.

 

Lance explained a few of the decorating tools that Keith wasn’t overly familiar with, but most of it was basics, things like sprinkles and tubes of icing. They worked in silence then, the Christmas music filling the lull in their conversation and adding a nice ambiance to their intense concentration.

 

Lance couldn’t help but laugh at Keith a few times when he noticed him struggling, although Keith never seemed offended or discouraged. He simply shook his head and rolled his eyes, a small, amused smile on his lips as he continued.

 

Lance had to admit, Keith was doing well. Lance was used to making cookies with his little siblings and cousins, and most of them were young enough that their cookies came out looking like sugary monstrosities. Keith, however—either because he wasn’t below the age of eight or because he just wasn’t that awful—made his look as nice as he could.

 

Lance’s were still better, of course, but that was to be expected. He’d spent Christmas after Christmas in the kitchen with his mother, making dozens upon dozens of cookies for them to give away. To say he’d had a bit of practice would be an understatement.

 

Their intense decorating session was interrupted by the second batch finishing up, and Lance went to pull it from the oven as Keith looked around to find something nice to display the finished cookies on. Once both tasks were complete, they both moved back to the last of the dough to cut out the cookies for the final batch, devouring the leftover scraps. After that, it was a repeat of the cycle: put the freshly cooled cookies in the decoration zone, transport the raw cookies to the tray, stick the tray in the oven and reset the time, and return to the grind of making them look even better than they tasted.

 

Lance lost track of time quickly, the night blending into a blur of laughter and warm smiles and icing as it continued on. At some point, Lance had smeared icing on the tip of his nose, so Keith had done the same. That escalated into the two of them smearing icing all over each other’s faces, turning one another into a masterpiece of sugar just like the cookies they were making. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard, smiled so much, had just a good time without worrying about anything else, like what people thought of him and what he was expected to do and what could go wrong.

 

Lance was just… relaxed. He was relaxed and happy and more importantly, Keith seemed just as relaxed and happy as he was. It wasn’t how Lance had imagined spending his night, no—but it turned out to be so, so much better.

 

Eventually, all the cookies were decorated and stacked stylishly on a cute little ceramic plate that Keith had pulled from the depths of his kitchen, smiling up at the two of them brightly. There was everything from snowflakes to stockings to presents to reindeer, all decorated with care. Only two cookies remained unstacked, and those were the two that Lance and Keith decided needed to be the first sacrifices, just to make sure the rest of them were okay.

 

“Okay, who’s going first?” Lance asked, holding his chosen cookie carefully in his hand.

 

“Why can’t we go at the same time?” Keith asked, furrowing his brow slightly. “We’re just eating cookies.”

 

“It’s a survival tactic, duh,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “If we somehow messed up horrifically and these cookies are now poison, then it makes more sense for one of us to go first so we both don’t have to die.”

 

Keith stared at him, his brow furrowing even more. “Um… okay. I guess I’ll go first, then.”

 

“Way to take one for the team, buddy,” Lance grinned, patting Keith’s shoulder with his free hand, watching closely as he took a bite. Keith snorted softly and rolled his eyes as he chewed, staring Lance straight in the eyes while he did.

 

“They’re really fucking good,” Keith reported once he had swallowed the bite in his mouth, giving Lance a smile. “Really, really fucking good.”

 

“Hooray!” Lance cheered, doing a little dance as he took a bite of his own, humming happily. “Mm, you’re right. These are amazing.”

 

“These weren’t actually as hard to make as I thought,” Keith said as he took another bite, the cutest little proud smile on his face. “But yeah, I definitely messed up the first time.”

 

“It’s okay,” Lance said, patting his shoulder again. “I’m going to refrain from singing Hannah Montana, and instead tell you a story. One time, when I was a little kid, my mama told me my family was going on a picnic later that day and I wanted to be nice and make sandwiches for everyone, but I used horseradish instead of mayonnaise for every single one. So, most of them didn’t end up eating what I made. Because horseradish is disgusting.”

 

“See, that’s the kind of mistake I would make right now as a twenty three year old,” Keith said, snorting. “Not as an adorable little kid who just wanted to help out.”

 

“You’ll get there, young padawan,” Lance said sagely, reaching out to ruffle Keith’s hair. “You’ll get there.”

 

* * *

 

Around the holidays, Lance was a very busy man. The three weeks leading up to Christmas was always the same: the first week was spent shopping, buying presents for all one million of his family members, all his friends, and anyone else he thought deserved one that year (that normally translated to the family dog). The second week was dedicated to travel, flying back to Florida to spend time with his extended family and carry out the traditions they did every year. The last week, the one that included the holiday itself, was normally dedicated to his friends and to himself. He often went out and bought himself presents, mostly things he wanted and almost never things he needed, no matter how many times he lied to himself. And his friends often threw holiday parties, which were one of his favorite things in the world.

 

The holiday party he was currently at wasn’t exactly thrown by one of his friends, although he did know his landlord Coran very well. Every year on Christmas Eve, Coran liked to host a Christmas party in his apartment, where everyone brought their own food and wore ugly sweaters and caught up on all the hot gossip they’d missed throughout the year.

 

Lance had gone to Coran’s party every year, and most of the time it was okay. Although he knew all the people in his apartment building, he wasn’t particularly close with any of them. The gossip was always boring old people things that he didn’t care about, and none of the food was ever anything to yell about.

 

However, this year was different. This year, Lance convinced Keith to come with him, which made all the difference, really.

 

When Lance excitedly bounced across the hall to ask Keith if he would even consider it, Lance hadn’t expected him to say yes. Keith was kind of at odds with the entire rest of the apartment building, for reasons that were still much of a mystery to Lance. However, Lance hadn’t seen Keith for almost a week and a half at that point, and he was desperate enough to take a chance and ask, which surprisingly worked out in his favor.

 

Ever since Keith’s first cooking lesson, the two of them had been meeting up as often as they could, cooking up everything under the sun. Lance had taught Keith how to make his favorite meals and Shiro’s favorite meals and they’d even thrown in a few of Adam’s favorites for good measure, and Keith had gotten more and more confident with everything they made.

 

This of course just meant that Lance’s crush on Keith continued to grow and grow, but as long as Lance dutifully ignored it the way he had been, it would be all right. Lance wasn’t sure where Keith stood on relationships, both with sexuality and interest, and he was absolutely terrified to ask. So he kept his mouth shut and channeled his untamed energy into being the best god damn culinary teacher Keith could ask for, pushing everything else to the back of his mind.

 

While Lance was gone visiting his family, he’d told Keith to keep practicing and exploring new recipes, but Lance wasn’t sure how much Keith would follow through. Most of the time he didn’t want to try anything on his own, afraid of making a mistake and messing the whole thing up. He really knew more than he thought he did, but Lance had a hard time convincing him of that.

 

The potluck at Coran’s party would be the perfect excuse for Lance to both check up on Keith’s cooking and give Keith a little more confidence, since people other than Lance would be trying it and most likely giving it compliments (because if there was one thing old people loved to do, it was give compliments, and most of the people who lived in their building were indeed old).

 

Lance had been excited when he realized how great of an opportunity this was, but he was ecstatic when Keith had agreed. And before Lance could even open his mouth and mention anything about the fact that he was expected to bring some food along, Keith told Lance that he already had something picked out that he wanted to try doing on his own. Lance felt strangely like a proud dad in that moment, which he wasn’t sure about, but he’d told Keith that it sounded like a great idea and that he’d see him the night of the party.

 

So now here they were, both wearing ridiculously horrific Christmas sweaters and beginning to drown in their own sweat as they packed themselves into Coran’s tiny apartment with every other resident in the building, milling around and picking at the food as they carried on vague conversation with those around them.

 

“This is an old people party,” Keith whispered to Lance as they waited in the food line, glancing around them in distaste.

 

“Old people are the best, sometimes,” Lance answered, shooting him a small grin. Keith wrinkled his nose, shaking his head.

 

“You’re wrong. This party sucks.”

 

“We don’t have to stay here forever,” Lance replied, rolling his eyes. “Just eat some food, talk to a few people, wait until they put out dessert, and then we’ll bail.”

 

“Can we hang out after?” Keith asked, raising a brow at Lance. “I think you owe me after this.”

 

“As if you’d have to force me,” Lance scoffed, smiling at him. “Besides, you don’t get to blame this on me. You agreed to come.”

 

“And I regret it,” Keith grumbled, giving a small smile back.

 

“Sure you do,” Lance said, laughing softly. Lance then realized that they were holding up the line and hurriedly stepped forward, grabbing a spoonful of whatever looked good enough to eat and at least two spoonfuls of whatever Keith had brought, which looked like some sort of cheesy potato casserole. “How do you think your dish turned out?”

 

“I don’t know,” Keith said, shrugging. “I’m kind of afraid to try it.”

 

“Oh, come on. I bet it’ll be amazing,” Lance said, leading them away from the food and towards of the empty loveseats in the back of the crowded living room. Coran always pulled magic furniture out of nowhere for his parties, and Lance had learned long ago not to ask.

 

“I’m definitely not eating any of it,” Keith said, shaking his head.

 

“Why not?” Lance whined, pouting as he pulled Keith down to sit next to him. Keith angled his body so his back was resting against the arm of the chair, his leg pulled into the seat with him as he faced Lance.

 

“I just told you,” Keith said, giving him a look. “I’m afraid it’s gonna be awful.”

 

“Would it make you feel better if I tried it first?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow. For Lance, such an offer was monumental. For every meal they’d made together, Lance had insisted that Keith taste it first. It was really so Keith would get his own opinion of what he’d made without being influenced by whatever Lance had to say, but it was fun to disguise it behind the claim that if it was poisoned he wanted Keith to be the one to find out.

 

Keith obviously realized this was as rare as Lance did, since his eyes widened slightly and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Fine, then,” Lance said, using his fork to scoop up a bite and plop it into his mouth. What Lance tasted was practically perfection, and Lance didn’t have the willpower to keep himself from telling Keith so. He just didn’t.

 

“Keith,” Lance said, letting out a dramatic-yet-not-dramatic-at-all hum as he chewed and swallowed. “That’s fucking amazing, dude. Great job!”

 

Keith blushed at Lance’s praise, looking away as he played with the edge of his plate. “I did a lot of practicing while you were gone,” he said. “It helped passed the time.”

 

“Aww, did you miss me?” Lance cooed softly, smiling at him.

 

“Yes,” Keith said plainly, looking back to meet Lance’s eyes. Lance flushed slightly at that, biting his lip as his heart fluttered in his chest. Dammit, crush, not now!

 

“Well, good. I missed you, too.”

 

Keith let himself smile then, a small, private smile that was just for Lance, the kind of smile that really _did_ things to him. God, Keith wasn’t fucking fair at _all._

 

“You really think it’s good, then?” Keith asked after a few moments had passed of them just smiling at each other like the blushy idiots they definitely were, Lance trying desperately not to read into it all the while.

 

“I do,” Lance confirmed, nodding. “It’s fantastic. You should try some.”

 

Keith looked at Lance before immediately looking away again, his body language retreating into something even more shy and unsure than it had been before. And then Keith was taking a deep breath, sitting up straight, leaning forward and grabbing Lance’s chin and pushing their lips together in the softest, gentlest kiss possible.

 

Lance was frozen for far longer than he would have liked, considering he’d dreamt about this moment more times than he could count, but he eventually found the wits to bring his free hand up to gently cup the back of Keith’s neck, keeping him there as he kissed him back.

 

When Keith pulled away again seconds, minutes, hours later, it felt much too soon to Lance. He wanted to whine, wanted to pull Keith right back in, but he let him go. Mostly because of the company and not because he had any semblance of self control. And when his eyes fluttered open again and he saw Keith looking back at him, eyes lidded, cheeks flushed, lips slightly wet, he knew he would probably be having a lot of self control issues in the future.

 

“Was that like a taste test, or something?” Lance teased, raising an eyebrow. “I know I ate it before you, but that’s actually _not_ the best way to taste it yourself, believe it or not.”

 

Keith blushed as he rolled his eyes and shoved at him, a wide smile on his face. “Shut up, Lance. I just wanted to kiss you.”

 

Lance grinned at that, scooping up some of Keith’s food onto his fork and waving it at him. “Well, thank God you did. Now, eat your damn food.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed !! comments and kudos are appreciated <3


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